The Day After
by Mrs PurplePebble
Summary: My version of events the day after Season 1 finale. Featuring all but special attention on V/ullo relationship.Pullo comes home to find everything he knew has gone, but there is only one person he cares about finding and helping in anyway he can. R
1. Chapter 1 Gone?

Originally posted 01/10/07 reposted 05/02/10

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A/N:

**New year, New fic, New category. **

This has been through so many changes of late so im sorry for any confussion.

But it is my version of what could of happened 'the day after' series one ends. I worked myself and lots of people stuupidly hard over Christmas just to get this finished before the second season started!

Just my way of starving of the 'Rome' withdrawal symptoms. lol.

Many thanks to my wonderful boyfriend who gave up 6 hours of his new years day just to help me get this ready to post today. You are amazing! Xx13xX

Anyway...

_Obligatory Disclaimer:_ I don't own the characters, or make any money from this, if i did own them i'd be having far too much fun to be doing this.

_Friendly warning:_ This will become slash with later chapters If you do not like please DO NOT READ! You have been warned.

and now thats out the way, onwards with the story...

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Chapter 1 - The day after

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Rome lay silently basking in the morning sun, its streets empty, and all its residents hiding from the dark magic the murderous deeds of the previous day had created.

All, except one…

Walking hand in hand with his former slave Eirene, Titus Pullo smiled and turned his face to the sun as they wove their way through the streets. He had everything he could possibly want. Ok, so Eirene might not be his wife yet, but she had at least stopped spitting in his food and for now he was content with that.

Only when he reached the Forum did the former soldier emerge from his cloud of contentment to notice that something was wrong.

The normally bustling city centre that was home to everything from public trials, livestock markets, and funerals, stood silent and empty. Like a faithful family home whose family had been torn from its nursing walls in the dead of the night by a horror unknown, the forum looked sorry for itself.

Scanning the area, Pullo was amazed as his footsteps echoed around the deserted square. Only when he had turned in a complete circle did his eyes fall on the senate house, its doors wide open and to a seasoned soldier such as him, the unmistakeable stain of blood on its white columns and steps.

"What in..?" his question halted as his roaming eyes found the still wet graffiti on a near wall. Crude drawings much like those that he could scribble himself, were splashed on top of whatever had been the previous day's gossip. Picture after picture depicted the same scene; Caesar, a bloodied mess of red brush strokes, lay slain with Brutus above him, a stained knife in hand. It wasn't hard to work out what had happened.

"Pluto's cock, I go away for one day..." Pullo's words drifted off once again this time as he remembered who else had been at the senate yesterday.

"Vorenus." The name tripped from his lips and he dropped Eirene's hand. Had his friend been involved in the events depicted on the wall? Pullo knew it was likely he had, everyone knew Vorenus was Caesar's man, and if Caesar was dead… Pullo could not, would not, finish that thought. Turning once more, without a second thought he headed towards the cloth dyers district, and the closest thing he had to a home.

As he marched through the Subura, Pullo's eyes were scanning everything, his entire body on high alert. Somewhere behind him, he could hear Eirene struggling to keep up with his pace, but he cared not. Right now nothing mattered more than finding his friend. If something had happened, he had to know.

As his distance from the forum- and the black magic that had occurred there- grew, so did the number of faces he saw. Windows opened as he passed, and whispers echoed along the empty streets.

"_He's here?"_

"_Does he know?"_

"_Where was he yesterday?"_

"_I thought they were friends?"_

Pullo heard all the questions, but no answers. With his concern racing, he broke in to a run, stopping only as he reached the entrance to Vorenus' insular.

The fact that the gates were closed, an unusual event to begin with, confirmed his worst suspicions and tightened his chest when he saw they supported a black mourning ribbon.

With his heart beating faster than he could ever remember before Pullo slammed open the gate, and knocked the ribbon to the floor, crushing it under his foot, as he stamped forward for all the world looking like a wild animal.

"Niobe!" he cried at the top of his voice, his head turned up to the balcony outside the Vorenus apartment door. "NIOBE!"

"Hush!" Came the sharp reply. "Have you no respect?" From a lower apartment Niobe's best friend Clarissa appeared. She knew the enraged soldier must be in shock, but it hurt to hear the name of the woman she would never speak to again.

"Respect my ass!" Pullo answered, not able to pull his eyes from the closed door. "Where is she?" When yet more silence answered his question Pullo finally turned to look at her. The anger blazing in his eyes died as he took in her black mourning dress and shawl, the last fragile hope of his friend's safety was ripped away.

"Where is she?" he begged quietly once more, his throat feeling so tight he was surprised he could even breathe.

Clarissa stepped forward, and almost fell onto the wooden bench in the courtyard, the strain of her grief becoming too much. "She's gone," she whispered, her voice hitching as her tears began, "she's gone."

Pullo was confused. The woman wept, yet it was his friend that was dead, dead and abandoned by his wife. Unwittingly his mind sped to the promise he had once made in jest, to pour wine on to Vorenus' grave. Silently he vowed again to honour his words.

Shaking his head to clear his vision he stepped towards her. "What happened?" he questioned.

Clarissa sobbed harder. But Pullo had no time for her dramatics, he needed to know everything. Crouching in front of her he held her arm tight and pulled her to face him. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice deep and aggressive. "What happened to Vorenus?"

Clarissa looked up, her eyes watery. "We don't know," she answered honestly, pleading to be believed. "We just found him, crumpled on the ground, every spark of life gone, his eyes and ears dead to all around."

Pullo turned white and for the first time found himself blanching at the thought of a dead body. Blinking, he tried to focus on what she was saying.

"You could hear the cries three streets away," Clarissa continued and shivered; she would never forget the sound of the grief, even if she lived to hold her grand-children's children. "So many tears, and blood that would not clean," she whispered, her hysteria starting to emerge again, and she looked down to her hands."I tried and tried…"

Pullo's eyes followed her gaze; her hands, scrubbed red raw, confirmed her words.

"What…" Pullo's voice broke. "What did you do with… with him?" He needed to know, he needed to know his friend had been treated properly. Vorenus was Thirteen. Pullo cared little for what he had become since the legion had been officially disbanded. Once you were Thirteen, you were Thirteen for life, and the Thirteenth didn't disrespect their dead.

The woman looked up, caution in her eyes. "We… we couldn't move him," she admitted. "He was so heavy, the look of death on his cheeks. For hours he lay where he fell, no-one could move him, not the children… not the solders."

Pullo felt his anger rise as he stood. They had left him there, Vorenus in the courtyard, dead?

It was too much to bear. With an angry yell he kicked over a wooden stall and condemned it to a life as kindling. As he breathed deep, it clicked what she had said. "Soldiers?" he repeated, quickly turning back. "The Thirteenth?"

Rissa just shrugged. "I don't know," she answered tiredly, "they were just solders. Lots of them. Most didn't know. They just came for guidance about Caesar, and left muttering your name. Everyone muttered your name... after."

"Pullo?" a small faltering voice called from the gate, surprising them both, with an echo of the woman's thoughts.

Turning just his head, Pullo could see Eirene standing there. "Leave," he shouted, so full of rage he was unable to temper it. "Go!"

Tears sprang to the girl's eyes. She didn't understand.

"Go?"

"Be anywhere but here," he snapped again, turning his head so he didn't have to look. He couldn't bear to deal with her right now. Besides there was more of the story he needed to know. Turning back to Clarissa, all thoughts of the freed woman were lost to him.

"Why didn't someone come for me?" he questioned.

Clarissa turned back from the view of Eirene shrinking away. "No one knew where you were," she answered truthfully.

"I needed to know," Pullo moaned, "I should have known." Angry, he hit the table with a closed fist, and the woman jumped.

"There was little you could have done," she consoled after a second, laying her hand on his arm. "Death came on swift wings yesterday, taking more than his share."

"When?" Pullo had to know every last detail, for it would not sink in.

"Midday," Clarissa answered, "around the time the senate met. There have been whisperings that somehow it is part of the same bad business that occurred there, but I don't know." She had her own theories.

Pullo's heart sank even further. He had guessed it correct; Vorenus had been right all those time when he said Caesar's path would lead them into trouble, and now he was dead, they both were.

In silence, he walked back to where he had stood earlier and called up to the balcony, only this time he noticed how a small circle of the stone courtyard shone brightly clean.

"Here you say?" he asked, thinking where Rissa had pointed earlier, and the woman nodded.

Staring at the clean spot, Pullo felt tears in his eyes. His senior officer, his best friend, the first person he had cared about in years, had died there.

"How?" he suddenly asked, looking back to the woman. "HOW?"

"A fall," she whispered, "some say pushed, others jumped."

Pullo was incredulous. He looked back to the balcony above; his friend hadn't even got an epic fight like he deserved, just a cold floor.

"Nay," he shook his head. "No, he couldn't…"

"They fought beforehand," the woman continued, as if it explained it all. "Vorenus was angry. He broke things…" she trailed off, worried about offending the unstable soldier in front of her by speaking ill of the other.

Pulling his eyes from the spot, Pullo turned to the woman. "Over what?" he questioned carefully.

"I..." the woman paused. "I don't know."

Rushing forward with dread knotting his stomach, Pullo dragged her to her feet. "You're lying," he accused her.

"A... a" Clarissa stuttered as he shook her, "a family matter."

Pullo's eyes narrowed. "Family?" he repeated.

"Family," she confirmed.

"Dis' balls," Pullo swore vehemently, as he realised what must have happened. All this time he had tried so hard to keep that whore's secret from his friend, and now it had killed him. Vorenus was dead because his wife couldn't keep her legs together? His anger flared. If he got his hands on her…

"Where," he growled, "is she?"

Clarissa just stared at him, with wide eyes.

When she failed to answer, Pullo's hands tensed, crushing her arms. "WHERE," he asked again, "IS NIOBE?"

"She's dead," The woman whimpered. "She's dead."

Pullo let go of the woman almost as fast as he had grabbed her.

"Dead?" he questioned, not understanding. Sacrificing herself after her husband's death went only a tiny way to redeeming Niobe in Pullo's mind, but it was a start. Maybe she had loved him after all, but somehow it just didn't sound right. "Dead," he repeated, "As well?"

"As well?" Clarissa was confused for a moment, until she remembered why the rest of the city was in mourning. "Yes," she lowered her eyes. "It is horrific."

Pullo fell heavily to sit on the bench next to her. He didn't know what to do. Like a leaf on the wind, he had no direction, nowhere to go, no one to follow.

Sighing, he sank his head into his hands. "I need to get drunk," he moaned.

Clarissa was surprised by the depth of emotion playing on his face, and she knew it wasn't for her friend. "You knew him well?" she questioned.

Pullo's head shot up. What kind of question was that? "Best as anyone could." He nodded, not without a little pride, meaning it in so many ways. "I know he loved her," Pullo spat out the words that left a bad taste in his mouth. As far as he was concerned she did not deserve such an honour.

Clarissa's eyes crinkled in confusion "Niobe?" she asked.

Pullo looked sideways at her "Yes," He said slowly, "Vorenus loved her, he turned down…" Biting his tongue suddenly, he stopped his mouth from betraying the secret Vorenus had teased him he would not keep, and shook away the memory of one of the best nights of his life. "Now he's dead," he finished tonelessly. Finally admitting the truth to himself, as he said the words aloud.

Clarissa's eyes widened at the soldier. Somewhere he had become mistaken. "No, no," she hurried to correct him, the words tripping over themselves to escape her lips. "Only she rests with Pluto."

Pullo's world lurched violently sideways. "Only _she_," he repeated, as if to reassure himself the woman had said the words. "Only… Niobe?"

Rissa nodded. "Vorenus lives."

Pullo's face cracked, his wet eyes now of joy. "Ha!" he cried, laughter spilling from his lips as he jumped to his feet.

"Respect," the woman scolded again as she watched the solder's face light up. His friend might not be dead, but hers still was.

Pulling her to her feet, Pullo kissed her hard on the mouth for a second, ecstasy running through his veins. Spinning her around the courtyard, he could not stop grinning.

"Where?" he asked as he calmed. "Where is he?"

The woman shook her head. "No one knows," she answered softly. "The children were sent to her sister's, and no one has seen him since."

Pullo's heart pulled painfully again. Despite what he thought of the dead woman, Vorenus had loved her, he might be as broken as dead anyway. Hadn't he once said as much?

"I need to find him," he realised as he let go of the woman. He would not let his friend down again, he would be there for him. "I need to find him"

III

In an airless room, with nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat to keep him company, he lifted his head and narrowed his eyes against the sun filtering in between wooden slats that did not meet, penetrating the darkness surrounding him in small slivers.

It was a new day, but he did not care. He had sunk to this place when it had been light yesterday and not moved since. Apollo's unremarkable appearance as with every morning did nothing to encourage otherwise.

Lowering his head, his neck stiff as he did, he sniffed deeply at the blanket clutched desperately in his fist. He could smell honey, and almonds, and her. He could smell her as if her head lay on his chest, and rose with every breath he took. His throat tightened, and as he fought to keep control of his emotions, squeezed his eyes against the light.

Sleep would be welcome to him, if he knew he would not dream, but just closing his eyes he was flooded by a hundred images and words that hunted his soul.

"_Speak sense whore." "You will not speak to me that way." "It's blood it'll wash!" _

Every angry word he had spoken crowded his head until he was forced to snap his eyes open.

He may not have had a chance to use the sharp knife that had played in his hand as he confronted her, and now he would never know if he could have done. She had taken that option from him as her last act of love. But then if she loved him why had she whored herself to another man? His mind began on the same tired argument he had struggled with all night.

So many questions and no answers. What did he do now? Given his standing if he had killed her, he would have been patted on the back and offered his choice of the eligible women in the city as a replacement wife to look after his children. Minus the boy of course. But what was he now? A man who could not satisfy his wife? A man who could not control her? Could not even punish her? What was he? A soldier of the Thirteenth? A Senator? No, nothing but a laughing stock.

Hiding his face he began to dry-sob into the material. His tears had dried up sometime last night, now his eyes just stung red, and his body shook as it went through the motions. His throat was sore, and his chest ached, but he did not care, he could not even feel; his wife was dead.

In the dark, and hiding in a corner, Senator Lucius Vorenus wished to die.

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A/N

Well that's it for the first chapter folks, what did ya think? do ya like? Leave me a review and let me know, pretty please with a cookie on top.

T.C.U until next time PP xx

P.s An extra cookie for anyone that can spot the reference to my favourite cancelled series, or more over the film it spawned. S.S xxx


	2. Chapter 2 Lost

A/N. So here we are again, many thanks to you who reviewed i am so glad you're enjoying so far. you have no idea how much it means. I spent a lot of time, and i mean a lot of time on this especially over Christmas. lol i dont think my in-laws appreciated me turning down Christmas dinner so i could work.

More thanks, love and kisses to my boyfriend who I've all but abandoned over the last month, and my beta who despite having no internet at home is doing her best to keep me on schedule.

anyway enough of me rambling, onwards...

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Chapter 2- Lost

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Titus Pullo sat in an almost silent tavern, a cup of wine sitting in front of him untouched as he stared into the middle distance. He had just been to Lyde's house. The two girls were there, all white-faced and dressed in black, grief for their mother shining in their young eyes. The boy was there too, the cause of all the grief, still alive only by Vorenus' compassion. He sat in the middle of family, completely unaware of what he had caused.

Pullo had hugged the girls tight, and watched as they prayed over their mother's soul. Clarissa had been right that they hadn't seen their father, and neither had Lyde, a sister so confused between grief and anger, she was of little help to anyone.

Pullo left with promises to come back soon, and a worried heart. He had found the nearest tavern and drunk a shot of the strongest thing they had been behind the bar, before finding this quiet table.

Logically he tried to think through Vorenus' whereabouts. Rissa said he hadn't been seen since yesterday, when Niobe's body had finally been prised from his arms, and the apartment had been closed. By Pullo's reckoning that gave him plenty of time to get comfortably drunk or drugged in a den of vice. Although not a particular state he wished to see his friend in, friend he was- more so on occasion- and find him he would.

Draining his cup, Pullo got to his feet and left in silence, to begin walking the streets. He at least had to feel like he was doing something.

In the all-but-deserted streets it didn't take long for him to notice the soft, tripping steps that followed him. Turning he grabbed his follower and pinned them against a wall, his large hand around their throat, before he even looked to see who it was.

"Eirene," he sighed, letting go of her as soon as he realised. "What are you doing?"

"I have nowhere to go," she whispered in her lilting voice that this morning drove Pullo wild, but now he barely noticed.

This morning he had thought he loved the girl, but right now all he could see in her was the reason why he was away from Vorenus when he needed him. He was ashamed to admit it, but right now he would trade her without a second thought for the knowledge of Vorenus' whereabouts.

"Go to Lyde's house," he instructed, "the Vorenus children are there, help look after them." Pullo thought of the bitterness in the sister's eyes. "Especially the boy," he added, knowing the help it might be if they were not faced with the needs of the child constantly.

Eirene looked unsure. "And you?" she asked.

Pullo shook his head as he walked away. "I have other business, important business."

Pullo walked through the streets, not knowing know where to go. He knew where he himself would be in Vorenus' situation, but even as he headed towards the whoring district, he knew Vorenus was not him. With a sigh that accompanied that realisation, Pullo turned around and headed up town. He needed help on this one, and there was only one person he could think of.

III

Octavian, relaxed on his usual couch in the garden. The sun was not yet at its apex, so the temperature was pleasant, even if the company wasn't. Up and down the path his mother paced.

"What are we to do?" she wailed, and slapped at the scroll her son was reading as she passed him, knocking it from his hands.

"You are over reacting mother," Octavian sighed. "We are in no immediate danger. The senate can not act against us, and if anything, the plebs will feel sympathy for us. Caesar was well liked and we by proxy."

"I do not want the plebs' sympathy," Attia sniffed. "I want to feel safe in my own home." She paused and looked towards the door. "I should get some more men. Heaven knows what Servilia will be up to next, the woman has lost her mind I tell you…"

Octavian rolled his eyes. He could not deny that the coldness and calculating tone of the older woman, as she had explained with relish the death of his uncle, was worrying, but he could also see the bigger picture.

"We are perfectly safe the whole time Mark Antony is in our house," he tried to explain in a way he knew his mother would understand. "He holds an army at his finger tips, and even if the senate decided to act against him it is unlikely that old men and nobles, with or without their bloodied daggers, could rival his seasoned solders."

Atia's shoulders visibly relaxed just a little and she looked to her bedroom, where Mark Antony finally rested, only after her personal physician suggesting a little something to help him sleep.

"Just keep him happy in your bed, mother," Octavian continued, following her eyes as he reached down for his scroll, "and all shall be well."

"Domina," Atia's body servant appeared from within the house. "Titus Pullo is at the door."

Atia just waved her hand. "Send him away, we have more important-"

"No," Octavian stood up, interrupting her. "I shall see him"

Atia turned to her son, eyes wide questioning. "For what purpose?"

Octavian looked at her as if it was obvious. "We need all the friends we can get at the moment, don't we mother?"

"Friends?" he heard his mother muttering to her slave as Octavian walked away. "Friends he says, with a soldier? I never…" her words faded from his hearing as he entered the building.

The Julii mansion was sprawling, with beautiful high ceilings and painted walls in every room, but to Octavian it was nothing more than a place where he had grown up, beautiful maybe but as cold- more so perhaps- as any public temple.

Stepping in to the atrium, his eyes narrowed at Titus Pullo. The man was obviously troubled; his shoulders, which normally snapped straight in to a regimental stance when he stood, sloped heavily, and his deep set eyes seemed to be arguing over which emotion to play.

"Young sir," Pullo bowed quickly as he heard the boy step into the room.

Walking slowly, Octavian crossed the room and sat on one of the four benches arranged into a square. "Come sit, Pullo," he instructed

Pullo shook his head. "If I may not?" he asked, not stopping to give Octavian time to answer. "I have come to ask your advice, if you will consent."

Octavian scanned the worried man's face, trying to work out what was happening. Gently he nodded.

"Have you heard of Vorenus' fate?" Pullo spoke quickly, getting straight to the point.

Octavian shook his head. All he had heard of the former soldier was the angry ramblings Marc Anthony had hissed as he stumbled into their house drunk last night, his identity hidden by the robes of a woman.

"What of him?"

Pullo looked to the floor. "He's missing, and I know not where to look."

"Missing, huh?" Marc Antony's strong voice suddenly boomed as he strode into the room, making both men, and Atia who had been watching from the shadows, jump. "Good," he smiled pleasantly, "I hope he's been torn limb from limb and his entrails left in the street for the rats to feast on."

Pullo bristled and his eyes blazed at the thought. After the morning he had just experienced, an image of Vorenus dead was almost too much to bear.

"If not," Antony spoke casually as he reached for a grape in a golden plate, "then I hope you find him before me, because that is the least I will do to the traitorous wretch."

Pullo stepped forward, and now Octavian saw his shoulders set. "Vorenus is no traitor," he almost growled.

Antony's face twisted bitterly as he squared up to the man. "He may not have held a knife," he admitted, and took a sip of wine from the cup in his hand, as if to calm himself, "but his desertion of Caesar had very much the same effect, don't you think?"

Pullo had by now heard more of the gossip about what had happened, and knew that his friend had been distracted, Mark Antony too, and that Caesar had met his death alone at the hands of Brutus and the senators. "No more so than yours," he answered glibly.

Mark Antony's fist struck Pullo's face before he even saw it coming, and forced him back a step or two. Octavian was on his feet instantly, and into the space between the two men.

"What is this?" Atia demanded as she rushed through the door, and Pullo relaxed the fist his hand was already formed into. "I will not have fighting in my house!"

"Mother," Octavian called without turning, "all is well, leave us now."

"I will not, I want-"

"Mother!" Octavian raised his voice, and for the first time in his life managed to silence her. "I said leave us now."

Atia looked as if she had been slapped herself, with her eyes wide she turned to look at Mark Antony.

A bemused look on his face, he shrugged calmly.

With her lover failing to defend her, Atia turned and stalked out of the room seething.

Taking a breath Octavian turned back to the soldiers. "Now, if you have quite finished, perhaps we can be a little more civilised."

Antony's eyes widened and he grinned at Pullo. "He goes away a boy and comes back a little man," he teased, as he crossed to Octavian and placed his hand on his head, ruffling his hair.

Now it was Octavian's turn to bristle. "It would seem," he began, hiding his annoyance at the childish gesture, "that Brutus and the others did not act on the spur of the moment, but this was a long thought-out plan. Both Antony's and Vorenus' distraction was not a mere thing of coincidence. Do you know how Vorenus was distracted?" he asked Pullo.

"I don't give a fuck for how," Mark Antony snapped, still needing to lay the blame at someone else's door. "He failed his duty, he is as guilty as the others."

Pullo bit the inside of his mouth and ignored his former commander. "I don't know, maybe…" He paused. It was not a happy prospect, but it was all he could figure. "News of his wife."

Octavian's eyes widened. "He knows?"

Antony stepped forward. This was something new. "Knows what?" he questioned

Octavian stood up as he tried to brush Antony's interest away. "It is a private matter of no great importance."

"Do not give me that, you may be able to chase away your mother," Antony closed the distance to the boy, "but not me."

Octavian stood tall, refusing to cower. "If you insist on knowing," he spoke as if doing Anthony a favour, his voice bored, "she had a child by another man."

"Ha!" As Anthony turned away a laugh escaped his lips before he could stop it. "All that time denying himself, and she was…" He laughed again before turning serious and looking to Pullo. "And you knew?"

Pullo shifted uncomfortably under the gaze.

"Has he killed her?" Octavian asked, breaking the tension.

Pullo shrugged. "She's dead."

"And now he's missing?" Octavian continued as he remembered why Pullo was there in the first place.

"He is," Pullo looked up eagerly, "and I need to find him."

"Hold, where were you when all this happened?" Mark Antony questioned.

Pullo suddenly found the floor interesting once more. "Out of the city," he confessed. "I heard only of it this morning."

"Ha," Mark Antony laughed again; this story was getting better. "This is the man who defies Caesar's direct order and jumps into the arena to save you? But you're not even in the city on the day he kills his wife?"

"I..." Pullo had no comeback; Mark Antony had hit his conscience.

"You're pathetic, both of you," Mark Antony struck. Having heard enough he turned and headed out. "But if by some small favour of the gods you do manage to find the dog Pullo, bring him to me immediately!" he commanded. "I will not chase a man I have paid for."

Pullo opened his mouth to respond with exactly what he thought of Antony 'order' when Octavian crossed close to him.

"What do you intend to do?" he asked, his voice conspiratorially soft.

"I need to find him," Pullo answered as if it was obvious. Slowly his shoulders slumped as he remembered his original reason for coming here. "But I still don't know where to look."

Octavian could see how worried Pullo was. "I know not where he could be," he admitted, and watched the soldier's face fall further. "Grief is a strange mistress, she visits us all in different ways." He paused as his thoughts flickered briefly to his own father's death. Shaking his head he drove them away, and returned to the matter at hand. "Vorenus, despite what he may become is a soldier, and that is how he will act. When in times of stress we often return to what we know."

Pullo thought for a second; the boy made sense, he always did. "Thank you, Dominus," he stumbled as he clambered to leave an idea forming in his mind.

III

Vorenus crawled across the room and pulled himself to his feet at the shrine. Standing, he gripped the now grubby white material of his senator's robe and began to rip it from his body. Unbeknownst to him, his action mirrored that which Brutus and the others had done with their bloodied robes the night before, each trying to cast off the shame that would never leave them by shedding their clothes.

"_You look like laundry."_

Pullo's words came back to Vorenus as he fought with layer after layer of the expensive fabric, not caring as the material that at one time would have cost him two years wages ripped beneath his hands. Balling it into his fists as he finally escaped, he threw it across the room with a grunt of frustration.

The toned muscle in his upper arms burnt just briefly as he did, reminding him that he had been out of the army too long. Just a year ago he could have thrown a hundred 8ft long solid ash spears in a single day without feeling a thing, and now he couldn't throw a simple robe. What had he become?

Standing naked now, he took a deep breath and reached for the candles on top of the shrine, lighting each of them, and invoking a different god with each flame.

"Jupiter, Juno, Janus, Bellona, Pluto," Every god he could think of stumbled from his lips, and his hands clenched around the dagger that hung from his neck. With a fierce tug he snapped the thread that held it there, not noticing the pain as the cord initially bit into his skin. Holding the sharp blade against his left palm, he drew it across purposely.

"I give my blood," he whispered, "with which to give my children long life, and enable them to find the happiness their mother..." His voice hitched as he held back yet another dry sob, "could not find."

Clenching his fist Vorenus watched as the wound dripped. Gradually he moved his hand across each of the candles, not caring that the flames licked at his hand as he did, and drowned them with his blood. When the flow stopped, he pulled the blade against his skin again.

"Venus, help them find good husbands."

And again.

"Ceres, keep my land fertile to provide for them."

Another minute passed, and yet another slice from the blade.

"And if possible, Mars, watch and keep Pullo from trouble."

The top of the shrine was a mess of blood and candle wax when he turned away, and fell weak to his knees. He prayed that the gods were listening because he meant every word. "Pluto," he whispered, finally bringing himself to call on the god of the underworld where his wife now was, fresh tears streaming down his face, "on all the lives I have sent to you, take my own and return my wife's."

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A/N,

awwwww! poor Vorenus will pullo find him? Tune in next time to find out. Lol

Reviews given warm and loving homes, and oh so appreciated. ;o)

Till next time T.C.U PP xx


	3. Chapter 3 Found

**A/N:**

Hey guys, sorry about the wait. This chapter took a little longer than i was expecting, a few of the scenes need more attention before they were ready, but it finally here.

Thank you Kagii, tagguit (yay my first repeat reviewer!) the-red-robin, ferman, anja, and jax the lazy biatch LOL ur so not! Seriously makes my day when i get a review. Makes me think all that stress and banging my head against the computer is worth it.

Thank you miss beta for putting up with me, and thank you mr boyfriend for doing everything around our house just so i have time to finish this. I really don't deserve you people in my life, but i love you for it anyway.

HBO however, i am sure is determined to make me cry. I've just reccieved news that there giving away episode one of season 2 on dvd with merchandise purchases from there website. _Surely this is good news,_ I hear you cry. Well it would be if they delievered to the uk! Damn it!

anyway enough, onwards...

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Ch 3 – Found

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"Open up!"

Pullo's fists pounded against a wooden door, and shook the frame with it. When he received no answer, he just kicked hard. "I swear on Jupiter's stone, if someone does not open this door I will break it down!"

A second after he received no answer, Pullo slammed his shoulder into the wood and felt the timber shiver with his efforts. Pushing harder with a forgotten strength, Pullo forced the door until it gave way and sent him tumbling, shoulder first, into the room and to the dirty floor.

Sitting up immediately Pullo's eyes scanned through the dust and destruction of the room looking for the only things he cared about.

"Oh, lamb," Pullo whispered, the words escaping his heart to reach his lips before he had even thought them as his eyes found his quarry.

Frighteningly silent and still Vorenus lay as naked as the day he was born, with all that was left of his shattered life in broken pieces around him.

"You idiot!" Pullo cried as he waded his way through enough broken furniture to keep a battlefield funeral pyre burning for a year. "Why didn't you answer me when I was here earlier? You bloody, stubbon, stupid…!" he's throat tightened as finally, he reached him, "Oh by Mars' fury," he whispered and he dropped back to his knees. "What have you done?"

Vorenus could hear a voice, and he was sure it was aimed at him but they might as been speaking Arabic for all he could understand. He had been hearing voices all night, most cried his wife's name but they had stopped eventually. He screwed his eyes up tighter, and hoped that this would too. He didn't want to come back, not now, not to the world where he was nothing. Images swam in front of his eyes, and blurred into one another as if they were underwater. All bloody, and violent, and tinged with his own guilt; the first man he had ever killed, Pullo's back lacerated by the whipping he had ordered, Pompey's head, flames licking around it.

"His a simple soldier, a fool, do not worry, he will never see." Niobe's voice spoke words he had never heard, over the memories.

Vorenus' eyes snapped open wide as a cold wave hit him with force, and for the delightful second in which he couldn't breathe he wondered if Pluto had granted his wish, but little by little the darkness edging his vision began to fade.

The cold water dripping across his bare skin told him the jug coming into focus was empty, and the heavy hands holding him told him he was not alone.

Using the last of his energy, he began to struggle against them; he could not help it, it was an instinct routed purely in his training.

"Calm!" a deep voice echoed as his hand connected with something solid, and Vorenus froze; it was a voice he knew. Slowly he turned his sore muscles around to look at the arms that held him tight.

"Pullo?" he rasped in recognition, his throat sore.

Pullo nodded, not looking at him, as he pulled the makeshift bandage he had wrapped around Vorenus' bloodied hand even tighter, "Who was you expecting, Pluto?"

Vorenus almost smiled despite himself. His eyes were heavy and his hand stung, he had no energy left, but for the first time he felt a little calm enter his soul. The arms that held him were strong, and he knew he could rely on them. He relaxed back into them. Maybe now he could find a peace to help him rest.

"Not yet," Pullo replied as he watched Vorenus' eyes shut. Tightening his grip around him, he pulled him to his feet. "Come on," he groaned. Vorenus' naked body was like a dead weight as Pullo held him upright, but he had carried him before and it was no burden to do so again. Kicking broken crockery out of their path he half dragged and half carried Vorenus to the bed he once shared with Niobe, and laid him down.

"I..." Vorenus tried to speak, wanting to explain.

"Hush," Pullo soothed, patting his friend's shoulder. "I have you now."

Vorenus' eyes closed as he relaxed. "Jupiter save me," he mumbled, and brought a smile to his friend's lips.

**III**

Mark Antony sat on the edge of Atia's bed and rested his head in his hands. He had to act fast, everything was spinning out of control, and he had to secure his position and that of Rome, immediately. With Caesar dead, there was a great vacuum of power at the top of the senate, and now was his chance to secure himself a better position, for life.

Atia stalked across her bed, sliding her naked, oiled limbs against one another as she reached her meal. "Antony," she hissed into his ear as she wrapped an arm across his chest, "come to bed,"

Antony stood up and pushed her away. "Will you desist woman, do you not understand what is at stake?"

Atia pouted, and motioned for a cup of wine.

"We are safe for now," she answered, dropping her seduction act and sipping from the goblet when it arrived. "Octavian tells me so. Brutus and the other cowards can not and will not act against us." She stopped short of adding 'with you in my house'; just because she knew how important Antony was to her safety, it did not mean she was going to broadcast her weakness to him.

"That boy of yours is becoming a man," Antony admitted, as he wondered briefly whether that was a dangerous prospect for him.

Atia waved her hand and turned her nose. "He is but a boy, obsessed by his dreary poetry." She was still smarting from the way he had spoken to her earlier. "He knows little of life, and cares less for politics."

Mark Antony looked to her suspiciously. He knew better than to believe everything that come from her mouth; there was never a time when she wasn't looking to gain herself an advantage.

"As you say," he feigned agreement.

"You are the man everyone is waiting for," Atia gestured towards him. "When the senate reconvenes, you must act, and bring Caesar's killers to justice." Her face twisted bitterly as she thought of Servilia's glee as she had told of Caesar's death, before returning a smile back to him. "You must punish them all, but Brutus especially." Her eyes lit up with her desire to pay Servilia back. She silently swore that the hag would suck a horse before she saw any of the Julii run from Rome. "It is just what everyone expects."

Antony turned back to the bed. "It is, isn't it?" Slowly he edged forward, not requiring an answer. "But then punishment comes in many forms, my dear," he whispered, and smiled kneeling on the edge of the bed. With A scheme clear in his mind, he gave over to his other appetite.

Atia shivered with delight as she recognised the look in his eyes, and only just had time to pass her wine to the nearest slave before he was on her.

Octavian stood outside his mother's rooms, and listened to the giggles escaping her throat as Antony did whatever he was doing. Her words about him bothered him none; he expected little else. In truth he would much rather be thought of as a boy, and then he would not have to face up to the responsibilities which he knew would soon come his way.

As the last remaining man with the name of the Julii, the time would likely come when he was called to act.

For now however, he had to hope that Mark Antony could be trusted to do the right thing and was not foolish enough to follow his mother's words. If Antony were to do as she wished, civil war would almost certainly break out, and send the old men of Rome running for there private armies. The future would be bleak; the republic would become even more fragile, and fractured before possibly crumbling entirely.

As his mother's screaming intensified, Octavian's thoughts turned to Pullo. The soldier was a good man, strong and violent, a member of the Thirteenth, and exactly the type of person Octavian would need on his side. Vorenus too, when it came to it. With a trusted friend of his uncle's by his side, his position could only look good.

Turning, he began towards Octavia's room.

If he was to gain any loyalty from the men, he needed to find out how the secret that had all but destroyed his life had reached Vorenus at exactly the wrong time. Octavian was not a fool. He knew that it was not mere coincidence; it was an obvious move by the assassins. How they had discovered the secret was the problem. He did not even doubt Pullo had kept his vow of silence on the subject, which left only his loose tongue and that of his sister, whom he confided in, responsible.

**III**

Pullo walked slowly through the empty streets, having left Vorenus' sleeping side once he had formed a plan, and even if Vorenus did not appreciate the wine that he had just used the last of his coin, and more than a few threats, to buy, he knew he needed a drink. If only to help him sit through the telling of a story he already knew.

His friend was in a bad way, and he knew it, but at least he was alive, and for that Pullo thanked the gods. He had no idea what he would have done if his earliest fears had been confirmed, but he couldn't help but suspect he would be in a similar if not worse state than Vorenus.

His pace quickened as he neared the gate, a need to get back driving him. Pulling his gaze from the street, as he crossed through the gate the smile on his face fell as he noticed that the door he had already broken open once was closed again.

Taking the stairs at full speed, Pullo slammed himself against the closed door, only to bounce back. Stumbling, he fought to keep hold of all four bottles of wine he held. "What in…" he pushed at the door again, this time gently with his hip; it was locked. "Oh, you mumping cunny," he groaned as he realised what had happened and he kicked the already splintered wood. "Open this Pissing door!"

Vorenus sat on the other side of the door with his back to it, having dragged himself awake only to find he was alone. The senator had found the most comfortable clothing he owned, and returned to his grief, half of him silently hoping Pullo's appearance had been nothing but another dream.

Now he breathed deeply, as every thump of Pullo's hand on the wood reverberated through his spine and increased his shame. It was bad enough that his friend had found him earlier; he did not want to embarrass either of them further. "Go away!" he snapped finally.

"I only went to get wine," Pullo answered as he set the bottles down. "Now let me in."

"Pullo!" Vorenus' voice was hard and authoritative now, and Pullo could not help the tingle it sent down his spine. "I said go away!"

Pullo fought with himself not to obey what had sounded like an order. "No," he replied petulantly. "Now stop being a woman and let me in,"

"I…" Vorenus opened his mouth to defend himself, but could not bring himself to; he was being unmanly.

Pullo heard the catch in his voice and sighed, his impatience flowing away. Leaning with his back against the door, he tried to tempt the man instead. "I have news."

"I care not," Vorenus, answered immediately.

"Mark Anthony is … unhappy about Caesar's death." Pullo continued, deliberately leaving out the ex consul's anger at Vorenus.

"I care not," Vorenus, answered again, this time an obvious lie. So much so in fact Pullo could almost hear his mind working.

"His called for the Thirteenth," Pullo lied. He knew he should not but he didn't care, he just wanted to get on the other side of the door. He immediately heard Vorenus move and he stepped away from the door, hopefully. A second later and his lie was rewarded by the creaking of the door, and Vorenus' ashen face

"True?" he asked as he peered out.

Grabbing his four wine bottles, Pull threw himself at the door, and muscled his way in.

"No," he answered as he set the bottles on the table. "Would you care if…" Pullo's words died in his throat as he turned around to see Vorenus dressed in his soldiers undershirt, his eagle proudly displayed on his chest. Never had he seen a more alluring sight. Shaking his head he tore his eyes away. His friend was grieving, he could not be thinking of him in that way. He coughed to cover his silence. "If… if it was?" he eventually finished.

"No," Vorenus lied again. "Would you?"

Pullo shook his head. "All past and forgotten," he added to Vorenus' lies.

Crossing to sit in front of him, Vorenus finally met his friend's eyes and held them for a second. Both had lied, and both knew it; they understood each other too well to pretend otherwise.

"What's all this?" Vorenus eventually asked, dropping Pullo's gaze that had become too intense, and gesturing to the bottles.

Pullo smiled. "A little something to make you feel better."

Vorenus' shoulders set and he slammed his fist on the table. "I have not lost my pet!" he shouted. "A cup of wine will not soothe my grief."

"I know," Pullo answered sincerely, as he laid his hand on the table. "But it will harm it none."

**III**

Octavian left his sister's bedroom with a sigh and a headache. Her crying was not an unfamiliar sound in their house, but that did not make it a welcome one. She had been too distressed to be of much help, but he resolved to try another day. He did not like having things unresolved.

"What do you mean he hasn't accepted my invitation?" Mark Antony's loud voice suddenly echoed through the corridor Octavian stood in, unmistakably angry. Intrigued, he crept closer and peered around the open doorway.

"Fine," Antony spoke again. "If my assurances aren't enough, I must give him something else." He paused to think. "An offer he can't refuse," he added, his eyes lighting up.

Octavian leant closer as Antony's voice dropped below his hearing.

"If you must spy on me, little one," Antony's voice rose again as he finished speaking to the officer in front of him, "at least have the decency to not block my light."

Noticing the fading light for the first time, Octavian realised he had been comforting his sister longer than he had been aware of, and that the house torches had all ready been lit, casting his shadow into the room.

Puffing his chest out he stepped forward with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Mark Antony," he greeted, "if you choose to conduct your business in my own home, I find it ill mannered to accuse me of spying when I happen across it."

"Ha!" Mark Antony laughed, amused. "I suppose it is."

"You are planning a party?" Octavian questioned, getting straight to the point.

"You could call it that," Antony agreed, and relaxed back in the chair, waving his soldier away to carry out whatever orders he had just been given.

"It is interesting you do not think it in bad taste when the rest of Rome mourns," Octavian observed, as he moved around the room.

Antony regarded the boy for a full second. "I simply wish to dine tonight with a few of my fellow senators." He held his hands up. "I was unaware that eating was disrespectful."

Octavian bristled and searched for an answer, as a different soldier appeared next to them.

"Speak," Mark Antony granted, turning immediately back to business.

"Lucius Vorenus has been found sir. Titus Pullo is with him at his house now."

"Vorenus?" Octavian frowned and his mind fled to all the graphic threats Antony had coupled with the former soldier's name every time he had uttered it in the last day.

"Another guest." Antony shrugged as if it were nothing strange.

Octavian could not hide his surprise. "You invited him?"

"Not yet," Antony smiled as he stood up, "but I will." He began towards the door. "I am sure he will have much to discus with my other guests."

Octavian got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Others?" he forced himself to question.

Mark Antony was all but out the door by now. "Why, Brutus and Cassius of course," he answered casually, before disappearing completely.

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A/N:

Yay he found him! poor, stupid, stubbon, lamb xx

Reviews most most most welcolme, in fact I'd go as far as to say actively encouraged. LOL ;o)

_Historicial note:_ It is reported that the thing antony sent to cassius, as proof no harm would come to him if he attended Antony's the night of Ceasers murder was in fact his own... son.

Till next time T.C.U

PP xx


	4. Chapter 4 Weakness

**A/N:** Oh dear the last chapter wasn't very well received. Major thankies to Anja however, my lone reviewer, without you im not convinced this chapter would be up, so i hope you enjoy.

anyway Onwards as ever...

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Chapter 4 - Weakness

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Pullo narrowed his eyes as he watched Vorenus empty his second cup of wine. So far they had drunk in silence, and he knew he had to do something. "Good stuff this, ah?" Pullo ventured and gestured to the bottles cluttering the table.

Barely moving his eyes, Vorenus just grunted in response.

"Do you remember Lefidius," Pullo tried again, unable to stand such a stilted conversation. "The scout from the 9th?"

Vorenus looked up this time as he scanned his memory. "The one with only one hand?"

"That's him." Pullo smiled, more at getting a response than anything. "I heard…" His words trailed off as he reached for the wine bottle, only to notice a bloody smear across its clay surface. As quick as a snake his hand shot across the table and gripped around Vorenus wrist.

Vorenus looked down, his reactions slow. "What are you doing?"

"Let me see," Pullo demanded, concern edging his voice.

Vorenus shook his head and tried to pull his injured hand away; he did not exactly want the man seeing the mark of his shame. It was hard enough sitting in the same room as him - sitting in the same room as anyone, in fact. But despite his refusal, if anything he felt Pullo's hand tighten.

"Don't be an idiot," Pullo spoke, his voice calm as he lifted Vorenus' hand off the table and turned it over. "You're bleeding."

Vorenus was surprised as he looked down and saw the red beads of blood that had soaked through the thick white material grow in size before his eyes. Wearily he sighed, and said nothing more as Pullo's quick fingers began untying the knots he had so hastily tied just a few hours ago.

Pullo did not react as his eyes roamed across the bloodied flesh that was once Vorenus' palm. And he did not ask what the four deep slashes crossing each other painfully deep represented, in regards to request to the gods. For perhaps the first time in his life, he knew when to keep silent; he simply reached for a bottle of wine.

Vorenus saw the movement and tensed. He knew what was coming and he knew it would hurt. The pair of them had not survived so long in the army without picking up a few rudimentarily medical skills, the first of which being how to keep injuries clean.

Holding the wine bottle in one hand and Vorenus' wrist tight with the other, Pullo did not even look up to see if his friend was ready before he poured the strong alcohol across the wounds. He felt Vorenus just slightly flinch as he fought with himself not to pull away.

Wincing further as Pullo wiped at his cuts and sent more pain shooting through his left palm, Vorenus searched for something to distract him. "You know she's dead?" he asked, finally facing the subject that hung over them like a dark rain cloud.

Pullo shrugged and kept his eyes on his work, pulling the bandages together once more. "I'm sure you had reason."

Vorenus took a deep swig from a bottle. "I didn't kill her," he admitted; he did not want to claim honour that was not his.

Now Pullo did looked up. "Come again?"

"I should have done, I know it... I was going to," Vorenus tried to convince himself, his eyes almost shut in concentration and his free hand almost closed in a fist. "At least I think I was." The alcohol was beginning to loosen his tongue. "She jumped," he added finally and gestured with his chin towards the open doorway.

Having finished with the dressing, Pullo forgot his cup and took a bottle himself. "Why?" he asked, his throat dry with anticipation.

"Lucius was her child," Vorenus answered, his voice devoid of all emotion. "Born from another man, while we were in Gaul."

Pullo feigned shocked, but it did not matter Vorenus was not looking, his mind was replaying the events of yesterday, the fright in his wife's eyes as he held her viciously, the rip of his own heart as he picked up a knife.

Pullo looked around the room and back to Vorenus himself after a moment of silence. "She does not deserve all this," he spoke of the man's grief, and the destruction, the result of it.

Vorenus looked up and met his eyes, and when he did Pullo finally saw the extent of the pain in them, and he realised it was not just the grief of a dead wife that had led Vorenus to this sorry state, but the loss of an idea he had built his life on. The thing that had kept him going for eight long years in the army, and had affected nearly every choice he had made since. The belief that his wife loved him as much as he loved her.

"I'm sorry," Pullo spoke softly, meaning for so many reasons.

Vorenus looked down to the table as water welled in his eyes; he had shown more than enough weakness for one night. As he did he felt Pullo's hand creep across the table and rest on his, offering him strength and peace in the way his arms had earlier. He looked up with a weak smile. "So what happened to Lefidius?"

**III**

Mark Antony stood at the door of the Julii villa with two of his guards, the rest having already been sent ahead with their own orders.

Atia's long dressing gown flared out behind her as she ran through her house to catch Antony. "I have wine!" she shouted, "Wine, food, servants…"

Antony turned as he fastened a golden cuff around his wrist.

"Stay," Atia finished. "Let me host your party."

Antony pursed his lips a second, and spared a look across the body he had just spent the afternoon enjoying. For a moment he considered it, although he wondered whether the offer would be so forthcoming if he had shared the details of the guest list with her. Hell, he was almost sorry he would not be here when Octavian no doubt filled her in. Almost.

"I will not," he sighed. "My household is perfectly well stocked."

Atia tried not to show the panic running through her veins. If Mark Antony left now, would he ever return? Would they be alone and vulnerable? "As you wish," she conceded, smiling away her concern. "When would you like us to arrive?"

Antony stepped out of the door into the dark street, and flashed her a smile.

"I am afraid my dear, you are not invited," he whispered, and let the door slam shut quickly so it muffled the scream of his name.

With a grin on his face, Antony walked away quickly before the door could be re-opened.

**III**

With his head resting on the table next to that of his friend's, and their hands still touching, Pullo rested and listened to Vorenus' deep alcohol-filled breathing. For a second he paused on how much a life could change in one day; this time yesterday he had curled under the stars with Eirene, the timid freed woman allowing him just close enough to share their warmth as the night had turned cold. Tonight he held the hand of his drunken best friend, whom he had at least twice today suspected to be dead, and rested his head on a solid wooden table. Instantaneously he decided which he preferred, and with a look of contentment on his face drifted into a drunken doze.

Consciousness flooded back sometime later as Pullo felt something sharp pushing into his side. Groaning, he shifted in his seat and relaxed as the sharp pressure disappeared for a second, before returning.

"Oh mump off, pig fucker," Pullo swore sleepily as he fought to stay asleep.

"Titus Pullo," a loud voice spoke, "Wake up."

Snapping his head up, Pullo blinked to focus, and was shocked to find the small room crowded with four soldiers. "What the...?" he began, but was silenced by a groan escaping Vorenus' lips as a soldier tried to wake him too.

Pullo stood up unsteadily. "Leave him alone," he hissed, looking to his friend's head still on the table. "He's had too much to drink. Let him sleep."

"Senator Mark Antony wants to see him," one of the soldiers spoke and poked at Vorenus again. "And he doesn't want to wait."

"Touch him again," Pullo growled at the soldier as he leant forward, only to feel the tip of a sword pressed against his chest. "And I'll cut your hands off, feed them to your children, then make them watch while I fuck your wife."

"Fine." The soldier in charge smiled, finally stepping forward and waved his man away from Vorenus all the same. "We won't touch him."

Pullo looked to him, and a flash of recognition flooded him. "You!" he growled, a snarl on his face. "What are you doing here?"

The soldier shook his head, refusing to be drawn into the past. "Get over here and-"

"Got yourself a new job Servirus?" Pullo questioned, "Best I guess. What's it been, two years? Last I saw you in Egypt, You disappeared right around the time he." Pullo nodded towards Vorenus. Too drunk to notice how the soldiers face grew dark with his words. "Got that reward for..."

"Shut up!" the soldier shouted, annoyed that his past mistakes were being laid out in front of his new men, with his eyes blazing he unsheathed his sword, and stepped forward.

Looking past the man Pullo saw movement, as the man previously at Vorenus' side returned to it. "Ok." he hiccupped, holding his hands up, for once in no mood for a fight. Swearing he would find annother time to deal with the man, he fell heavily back into his seat and forced a smile up him.  
"So, how've you been?"

**III**

Mark Antony sat silent in the atrium of his house, as slaves rushed around preparing the room for guests. It was the first time he had been alone since yesterday's events and he could not help thinking of them. Despite what people might say, Caesar was his friend, and he would miss him as so.

"Dominus," a voice called suddenly and pulled him from his thoughts. "Servius has returned with your guests."

Rising, Antony turned immediately to the door. Tonight was going to be interesting. "What is this?" he demanded as he entered the courtyard and found Titus Pullo standing to attention, with Vorenus apparently lying asleep at his feet.

Pullo smiled. "Lucius Vorenus," he answered, stating the obvious.

Antony looked from the grin on Pullo's face to Vorenus. "You got him drunk!" he accused.

Pullo puffed out his chest. "I did."

Antony did not even bother to disguise his contempt. "You are a complete fool," he uttered.

Pullo's smile wavered a little. "What else was I supposed to do?" he asked honestly. "His wife just died!"

"SO?" Mark Antony raged. "Find him a new one, buy him a whore to fuck, anything!"

"I got him drunk," Pullo grinned.

"Anything but that!" Antony snapped, annoyed that his plans had been ruined. Moving closer to Vorenus his eyes widened further as the flickering torch showed him the familiar sight of a crested shirt. "Did you dress him too?" he shouted, spinning back to Pullo. "He's not some army friend of yours now, don't you understand?"

Pullo smirked. It amused him to see how much something that he enjoyed, annoyed the senator so.

"At least he doesn't look like laundry."

"Oh, get him out of here," Antony spat at the guards as he turned back to Vorenus. He did not have time to wait for him to sober up; Cassius would be arriving soon and he still had things to do. Resisting the urge to kick him, he sighed and motioned for the soldiers closing the gate to come closer.

"Pick him up, and bring him here," he ordered, and walked to the water barrel in the corner.

Dragging him with an arm each, the guards pulled Vorenus to Mark Anthony and leant his chest on the edge of the butt. With his hand on the back of Vorenus' neck, Mark Antony pushed his head under the water without a second thought.

Gasping as for the second time that day he was awoken with freezing water, Vorenus received a lungful of the liquid as his head bobbed under the water level. Choking, he fought to move, but found a pair of hands holding him still.

As he held Vorenus' head Antony turned to the three slave girls, each carrying a different toga cloth, that had appeared at the side of him. Inspecting each one carefully he pointed to the second.

"The blue, I think," he chose and watched as they scuttled off to act on his decision.

"Enough," Antony ordered the soldiers as he pulled his hand from the water and let go.

Gasping for air, Vorenus straightened his back and flicked his head out of the water, sending a shower of it across the yard, as the pressure holding him down ceased.

"Salve, Lucius Vorenus," Antony called as he moved away from the barrel, drying his hand on a slave-offered towel. "How nice it is of you to join us. At last."

Vorenus coughed and looked around him, disorientated as he ran his hand across his face, pushing his hair back. Slowly he realised he was indeed in Antony's courtyard.

"Mmmark Antony, Sssir." he greeted, somewhat confused and not able to completely wipe away the drunken slur from his speech.

"I'm holding a dinner tonight," Antony spoke calmly, looking down to where Vorenus knelt. "And I expect you to attend."

Vorenus rolled his eyes and dragged himself to his feet. He barely wished to be around himself let alone anyone else. "Thank you, but I cannot."

Antony narrowed his eyes and took a breath to calm himself. He would face worse enemies before the night was out, and to lose his temper now would not be helpful. "Of course, you have something more important perhaps?"

Vorenus' dazed brain missed the danger in the question. "I am in mourning," he explained.

Antony's face twisted, unable to hold his anger. "SO IS ROME!"

Vorenus blanched and tried to focus; the volume of Antony's shout made his head spin.

"But do you see me mewing like a woman?" Antony's rage was unfading. "Or so drunk I cannot stand? NO! Why? Because we are senators. WE are better than that." His eyes caught the wet eagle now plastered by the cold water to Vorenus hard chest once again. "Despite how we may," he threw his hand out to gesture, "look."

Vorenus followed Antony's eyes and groaned inwardly. "I have no excuse but the one I have given you."

Antony waved it away, calming himself, and his eyes gazed across Vorenus' body again. "Come," he ordered as he turned to his house. "I'm sure I may have something that will fit you."

Vorenus shook his head again.

"I have paid for you loyalty once!" Mark Antony reminded him. "Are you so special you expect me to do it again?"

"You paid for my services as a soldier," Vorenus argued and slapped his wet chest. "Yet as you claim, I am not."

Mark Antony stepped closer to him. "I paid for you till your death," he corrected. "If you wish that to be tonight, I paid too much."

Vorenus lowered his eyes. Mark Antony had a point, he had made his vow and that was not something he took lightly. He quickly searched his mind for another way to reason with the man.

"But surely I am disgraced? My wife-"

"I don't give a fuck about your wife." Mark Antony snapped, closing the distance between them as he saw Vorenus' weak point. "But if a man is in need of honour he will not find it crawling around his own home. You want Respect? Then demand it, by force if needed. Be a presence that cannot be ignored..." Capturing Vorenus' face in his hand, Antony gently turned the redhead's eyes up to him. "Be by my side."

Vorenus nodded slowly, Antony's touch surprising him, and his words swaying him. "I will," he finally agreed.

Antony smiled, his plan working. Pulling him closer he pressed a kiss onto Vorenus' cheek. "Don't let me down," he whispered, his lips stroking across Vorenus' wet skin.

Vorenus suppressed the shiver that ran down his spine, just as he did last time Mark Antony kissed him.

"Come, let's find you something more appropriate to wear," Antony began as he pulled away and stepped towards the house. "Oh, and your wife, Vorenus," he continued, turning to speak over his shoulder. "By the gods, stop being a woman about it. A mother to another man's child deserves to be dead. She would disgrace you more were she alive."

Vorenus froze before he took his first step. Did everyone in Rome already know? He felt bile rising in his stomach. "How do you know of that?" he demanded

"Your dog, of course," Antony answered without hesitation, thinking nothing of the words. "He may be loyal but he cannot keep a secret."

Confusion ran across Vorenus' face as his mind searched to make sense. "Pullo?"

"Of course Pullo." Antony turned to face him once more. "He whimpers like a lost puppy when he knows not where you are."

Vorenus inhaled deeply and held it tight in his chest for a second as his world crumbled that little bit more."When?" he growled.

"I spoke with him this morning before you had been found."

Vorenus face twitched into anger and his eyes turned cold, the answer confirming his worst fears. Drawing himself up to his full height he tensed every single muscle.

Mark Antony paused as he saw the change in Vorenus, and he realised what he'd done. "Caesar was good to you," he warned quickly, hoping to temper some of the unexpected anger he had caused. "Do not put your own revenge above the need for his."

Vorenus did not even hear him as he turned away. A single sentence hammered in his heart, and the sound of his blood rushing filled his head. _He'd known! He'd known!_

Antony rolled his eyes. "Vorenus," he called in his best voice of command, as the man continued to walk away from him. "VORENUS!"

**III**

Pullo stood silently leaning back, with his head rested back against the wall of Mark Antony's house; all though the guards had thrown him out, they could not make him leave the street.

Silently he starred at the stars. Had it really been years since he had last done the same as he lay next to Vorenus for the first time? He knew so little of the man back then, but even by that early time in their relationship he'd learnt of the great love Vorenus carried, one so strong that still after years away he kept count, in days, of how long it had been since he'd last seen his wife.

Pullo had not understood that then; he had never felt anything like it. Over the years he had grown to understand, understand how one person could mean more than the world to you.

But now as he stood under the moon he found himself lost again, unable to relate to Vorenus, not knowing how to help him. He could see that he was hurt, but what had he done earlier? Told old army stories and filled both their cups until they both all but passed out. What kind of help was that?

Suddenly Pullo jumped from the wall, his thoughts torn from the past to the present as the gates to Antony's house slammed open noisily.

"So, what did he want?" he called as Vorenus appeared, and began towards him. "Sir?"

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A/N:

oh dear, anyone else think Pullo's in trouble?

Reviews welcome as always.

till next time T.C.U pp xx


	5. Chapter 5 Strength

_ A/N: So it is here ch5 finally, and a whole 21 hours before season 2 aires! (in America)WOOHOO! _

_Ahem excuse me but this had been such a massive task, I have had time of work, and all but stopped my life just to get this done and posted now.I have to say thank you again, to both my boyfriend and beta, who put in the long hours with me each staying up till 7 in the morning, just to help me, once or twice. _

_More thankies to my reviewers; especially to Anja and Kagii for coming and finding my updates _

_Warning: __Bigger Warning:__ This chapter contains slashy goodness. _

So onwards...

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Chapter 5- Strength

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"Lucius Vorenus sir?" Pullo tried again as Vorenus' face failed to acknowledge that he had even spoken, and he marched past.

"VORENUS!" Mark Antony's voice overrode Pullo's as he went to call again. "DO NOT turn your back on me!"

Pullo turned to the senator who had appeared at the gates. He knew it had been a bad idea to bring Vorenus here. "What did you say to him?" he demanded.

Antony looked at Pullo, contempt etched on his face before silently turning away, with no intention of explaining himself.

Pullo's arm moved and he grabbed the senator by the shoulder, his face deadly serious.

Mark Antony calmly looked down to the hand gripping his robe. "I suggest," he said, his voice firm, "you think _very_ quickly about that."

The small amount of common sense Pullo owned kicked in, and he let go. "What happened?"

Antony rolled his eyes, and turned away.

What has happened?" Pullo demanded again, his desire to know growing.

Antony looked to him and sighed "What's is it even to you?" he asked. "You are not his soldier anymore, why do you insist on following him?"

"He's my friend," Pullo answered immediately, unable to deny what had become clear years ago to him, despite Vorenus' best efforts.

"Ha!" Antony laughed as he walked away, his laughter echoing off the walls of his own house. "Friend, haha."

Pullo turned away, concern prickling his skin, and quickened his step to follow the path Vorenus had just stomped down. If Antony would not tell him, he would just have to find out himself.

As he stepped back through the gate, Antony beckoned the first slave he saw. "Follow him," he commanded, hearing the former soldier's movements. "I want to know exactly what happens."

**III**

Standing at the bottom of the stairs of the Vorenii household, Pullo looked up. There had been little doubt in his mind where to go this time, and the sound of destruction that filtered through the walls and echoed in the courtyard, erased what was left.

With a deep breath, he began on the stairs. Vorenus was his friend, he was sure of it, and he did not care how amusing Mark Antony found the idea. Nothing could change it.

Pushing the door open he could see Vorenus panting hard through a clenched jaw, his muscles tensing as he threw the table, the last complete piece of furniture, over.

Pullo winced as it crashed and splintered whatever it had landed on.

Standing perfectly still for a moment, Vorenus could have been a picture of Mars himself, surveying the destruction around him with a pleased eye. Evidently the effort had worked up his thirst, and he bent to pick up a wine bottle that was spilling its contents onto the floor.

Turning, his eyes widened as he saw Pullo in the doorway, and his fist tightened.

His own reactions not slowed by drink, Pullo had time to deflect the bottle with his forearm when Vorenus launched it at him.

"What the..." A second bottle hit his arm before he even lowered it.

"You," Vorenus growled, as he threw the next thing that came to hand and stepped closer to Pullo.

Stepping sideways, Pullo narrowly missed being hit by what he suspected had once been a chair. Watching it hit the wall he did not see Vorenus move, and only briefly felt hands connect with his chest as he was pulled viciously into the room.

"How long?" Vorenus barked.

Pullo lost his footing as his feet collided with broken furniture and he stumbled backwards. Then Vorenus was on him again and he instinctively began blocking the blows that rained down on him wildly.

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN?"

Pullo's arms froze halfway to defending himself again and his heart sank like a stone.

"How long have you lied to me?" Gripping him from the floor almost as if a child picking up a rag doll, Vorenus' hands twisted the fabric of Pullo's shirt until it pulled against his skin. Slamming him against the nearest wall, he pinning him there with his hand around his throat. "How long have you kept her secret?"

As he looked into Vorenus' eyes, Pullo could see it, the look, the white-hot anger that he normally kept so tightly held down, the look he had warned others not to mess with. The look that got people killed.

"I didn't, I don't..."

Vorenus shook him. "Speak truth!" He warned.

Pullo swallowed hard, an act that was made all the more difficult by Vorenus' tightening fingers.

"I thought it for the best!"

Vorenus face turned white as the mans words finally confirmed beyond doubt the betrayal, and he all but screamed as he used his grip to throw Pullo across the room.

"You thought?" he questioned as he stood over Pullo where he had landed. "You thought to tell everyone but me? WHY?"

"I didn't think you'd find out…"

Vorenus buried his foot in the other man's ribs. "And you think that makes it all right?"

Pullo shook his head and fought to catch his breath. "But... but I spoke to Evander..."

"You?" Vorenus gripped Pullo's shirt and pulled him to his feet. "You spoke to him?"

Pullo nodded enthusiastically, hoping his effort would show he had not meant to hurt Vorenus. "Tortured him and everything," he grinned. "He died apologising."

Disbelief crossed Vorenus' face. "You killed a man because he slept with MY wife?" he demanded angrily. "MY wife!"

"I did it for you," Pullo explained, trying to stave off his growing feeling of unease. "He was walking around here bold as brass, gazing at Niobe like some love-struck boy while you raised his bastard believing him your own grandson. He had it coming!"

"THAT was my decision!" Vorenus slammed Pullo back against the wall. "You think me a child that needs looking after?"

Pullo shook his pounding head. That was the last thing he thought of Vorenus as.

"That is what you have made me!" Vorenus shook Pullo with each word. "A man who cannot even defend his own honour by killing his wife's lover! So what am I now? Nothing!" Vorenus punctuated the word with a punishing blow to Pullo's mouth. "A man without honour is no one!"

Feeling the familiar coppery taste of blood in his mouth, Pullo slammed his hands against Vorenus' chest and shoved the man away. "What has your precious honour ever got you anyway?" he hissed angrily as he spat the blood to one side, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "A whore for a wife…" his pain forcing out the word's he had long wanted to speak.

A vein in Vorenus' neck pulsed, and his lip twitched as he listened to Pullo's words.

"…and a bunch of senators that are happy to kill each other." Pullo continued. "I don't see much honour there, do you brother?"

"You have no honour," Vorenus sneered as he squared up to the man again, "so what would you know of it?"

"I have honour!" Pullo snapped. "I take it on the battle field! And every time I fuck a woman who's husband I've just killed! You," he pushed at Vorenus' wet chest, "are no different to Servius," he named the captain of Mark Antony's house guards. "Nothing better than a guard dog, just dressed in a fluffy white toga, waiting for his next order."

If possible, Vorenus' face tightened as he threw himself at Pullo and sent them both crashing to the hard floor. "I am no dog!" he growled as he sat astride Pullo, throwing punches into the man's already bruised ribs. The unfortunate phrase reminded him of Antony's habit of always calling Pullo his dog. He wondered now for the first time how Antony had referred to him.

As he rocked with each punch, Pullo realised he had never seen Vorenus this way before, never so open, so honest, never had he given in to that anger he held, so fully. "Antony whistles and you go running," he provoked deliberately.

_I will…_

Vorenus froze as he heard his own voice utter his submission to Mark Antony earlier, and suddenly he realised he had been lying to himself. Pullo was right. He paused briefly on whether he was the first person to ever think that. Looking down to the man below, Vorenus' eyes caught the eagle on his shirt, and his face twisted bitterly. When he had dressed that morning, he had thought of freeing himself from the role of senator, but now he could see he had merely swapped it for that of a soldier. Be he a senator or a soldier, he would no longer do what anyone said. Gripping it with the same disdain as he had held his toga, Vorenus peeled the wet eagle from his chest. "I answer to no man," He growled through a clenched jaw.

As Vorenus condemned the shirt to the corner with a vicious throw, Pullo could not help but let his eyes wander across the ex-soldier's panting chest, the hard contours of muscle still clearly defined despite being long out of service with the legion.

Unwittingly his hands moved to the hard thighs that straddled him, and eagerly crept up, the sight easily turning his thoughts from the fight at hand.

"Don't!" Vorenus snapped dangerously as he seized Pullo's wrists and brutally pinned them back to the floor above his head. His face was now only inches from Pullo's, so that the other man could smell the wine on his breath and the sweat on his body.

Pullo could not help smiling at the tone of command, reminding him of the Vorenus he knew- and all the experiences they had shared together as soldiers. Pushing his hips against Vorenus' groin he tried to remind him of those memories too. "Do you forget the past so easily?"

Vorenus' eyes widened, and he groaned, feeling himself reluctantly responding to the movement. "Never," he smiled, lowering his head so that his lips brushed against Pullo's ear. "I will never forget that you betrayed me," he whispered. "From the minute I met you, you have done nothing but ruin my life."

Pullo's face fell hard and he tried to twist from Vorenus' grip; it was not the first time he had heard that, but it was the most painful.

Vorenus growled, and the fire in his blood burned hotter as Pullo now fought against him again. In the last day, he had lost his wife, his happy home, and every belief in honour he had possessed. No more he vowed, now it was time to take something back. He would do exactly what he wanted. Letting go of first one of Pullo's wrists, then the second, his eyes lit up as he realised what that was. Rocking back on his heels he flashed the knife he had just retrieved from above Pullo's head.

"Roll over!" he commanded. "Now!"

Moving as he was told, his muscles tuned over the years to automatically obey Vorenus' order-voice. Pullo let the idea of rekindling their more private experiences slip away. He had been punished enough times during his years in the army to have a good idea what was coming; a lick of a whip, a slice of a blade; it was all the same to him.

Rough hands slammed him back to the floor as he moved, forcing him to gasp for breath, his bruised ribs twingeing as Vorenus' weight returned.

Vorenus paused and stared silently at the knife he had picked up. He hadn't had the chance to use the blade yesterday, to restore his honour, but today it felt light in his hand, and ready for the task. Reaching down, he sliced it through Pullo's tunic and exposed the man's muscular back.

**III**

Octavian sat with his sister's head in his lap. Her room was dark around them, and heavy from the story she had just told.

"It's ok," he soothed, and stroked her hair. Having finally managed to extract the confession from her, his suspicions had been confirmed; she had told Servilia. "I forgive you. But you must never speak of it again."

"But I..." Her breath hitched as she sat up. "And uncle..."

Octavian turned her tear-bitten face to his. "Never speak of it again!" he commanded.

"I…" the girl paused, and looked deep into her brother's eyes. There was something new there, something she didn't recognise. "I won't," she promised hesitantly.

Octavian turned away as her gaze became too questioning, and he saw the flicker of a shadow past the door.

"Mother," he groaned as he got to his feet and moved to the door, expecting to find the woman eavesdropping, only to see the flash of a red dress as she hurried past.

"Mother!" he called again, following. "Where are you going?"

Atia barely turned. "To Antony's," she hissed, slapping a female slave's hand away as she attempted to paint her lips. "He can hardly refuse me entrance at his door."

Octavian was appalled. "Mother you cannot! Think sensibly," he implored, "how will it look if you too indulge in a _party_," he spat the word with disgust, "with Caesar's killers? We may lose all sympathy we have."

Atia froze, and turned slowly back to her boy. "Caesar's killers?" she questioned, closing the distance between them, and forcing her boy to step back. "Caesar's _killers_?"

**III**

Vorenus panted as he rolled onto his back, his chest drenched. The exertion of what he had just done made his muscles ache as if he had been on a battlefield all day, and the smell of blood and sweat filled his senses.

He could barely believe what he had just done. They'd had their battles before, but this was on another level. Guiltily his eyes tuned to the red blood straining his floor. He had not meant to hurt him, he had just needed to be someone again. To take control. As the cut cloth had slid to the floor, his eyes had drunk in the sight it revealed; taut muscles marred with a mass of white scars, and a new thin scarlet line beginning to grow in size. His eyes widened, and a sense of power filled him at being the one to have caused both marks on the man. His fingers moved gently to trace the old scars, and he felt Pullo shiver beneath his touch. The response was enough to tip him over the edge, and his thirst for more had become unbearable. Overcome with a need so strong, he barely had time to drop the knife before reaching for what he wanted, without a single thought to his friend's feelings or physical readiness.

Rolling on to his side, Vorenus brought his thoughts back to the present as he stared at the still form of Titus Pullo lying next to him. "Pullo?" he whispered, guilt tingeing his voice when his best friend failed to move.

Pullo's eyes were closed as Vorenus, gently this time, rolled him onto his back. His body throbbed and he could feel his own blood trickling across his skin. He could feel Vorenus' chest rise and fall, breathing deeply next to him, as he held his eyes tightly shut. He did not want to open them and confront the regret he suspected would be shining in Vorenus' eyes. His injuries would mean nothing compared to that. So squeezing his eyes tighter like a man in the last moments of a delicious dream, he took his own deep breath, and let the memory wash over him.

_His heart beat loud in his head, and he prepared himself for the burn of a blade. He would not cry out, he never had in the past; a few cuts? They would be nothing more than scars after a day or two, and it did not matter who was inflicting them, he told himself. He tensed, and set his jaw as the blade cut through his shirt the first time, slicing nothing more than a fine cut across his thick skin, and then… nothing. He felt the man above him pause as the cold air breathed across his now bare back, and if anything heightened his senses._

_Then a finger, a single solitary finger, traces a line across his back, and the world freezes for him._

_It's not the touch of a disciplinarian anymore, it's the touch of a lover, and he knows it. The metal twang of a blade hitting the floor brings his world spinning forward at full speed again. _

_Rough, coarse, urgent hands are ripping at his body now, ridding him of what's left of his clothes, he doesn't care, he lets them go, it's what he wants anyway, it's what he's always wanted._

_The man above him needs this, he knows, needs it to make himself feel a man again, so he bucks a little almost for show, knowing full well if he gave in too easily it wouldn't count. He's forced to gasp for breath however at the ferocity of the man's need as he fights him back, burning powerful bruises into his skin, and forcing him to the dirty floor. _

_In the past, he's almost had to beg for this, plead to be allowed to help him find his release. But not this time, this time the man presses against him eagerly, no hint of hesitation in his movements. _

_He's harder than he has ever been now, and although he aches for more, he wants to say stop, he wants to cry out; it's too fast, he knows he's not ready, it's been too long. But he can't, he knows the man above him has never been more ready; if he stopped him now, they might never get here again. _

_He bites his lip so hard he can taste blood, as the man pushes into him, pain and pleasure exploding across him like nothing he has experienced before. He can stop it no longer, and he groans, deep and guttural, more animal than man. He never thought, he never knew it could be…_

"I..." the word escaped Vorenus' lips and Pullo flinched as it cut through his memories, like the blade against his back.

"Don't," his eyes flashed open and he rushed to stop his friend. He couldn't bear it. He couldn't take the word sorry- if Vorenus said sorry, it would mean he hadn't wanted it as much as Pullo had. Sorry would mean regret, sorry would taint the memory of Vorenus finally giving in to the one thing he had always denied himself during their past encounters.

He would willingly take the beating he had received earlier again, and again if need be, if only it stopped the word sorry coming from Vorenus' lips. "By the gods don't."

"The gods?" Vorenus repeated as he pushed himself to his feet, and moved to the household shrine.

Sitting up and ignoring the various complaining muscles as he did, Pullo watched cautiously as Vorenus griped the edge of the lintel.

Staring at the mixture of blood and wax for a second, Vorenus shook his head. The gods had cursed him for some unknown reason, he knew that much, but he did not care anymore. The idea that they had anything to do with his actions offended him deeply.

"Fuck the gods!" he shouted. Ripping the shrine from the wall he threw it viciously aside, feeling great satisfaction as the small deity statues, which his children had once lovingly crafted, smashed loudly into a thousand pieces.

Pullo took a deep breath. The gods had never exactly done him many favours either, but he wasn't keen on provoking them; he had learnt that lesson the hard way. Getting to his feet carefully, he crossed to where Vorenus had sunk, and knelt down next to him, offering the wine bottle he had retrieved from it's grave on the floor.

From the doorway, hiding in the shadows, Mark Antony's slave continued to watch with rapt attention as the two naked men sat and began drinking in silence.

**III**

Mark Antony lay face down on his bed, his chin resting on the edge. Dinner with Cassius had been hard work and he was tired, so despite his appetite, he had declined to troop back to Atia's house.

"Ohh," he groaned aloud as the oiled hands of the slave sitting above him hit the right spot, and he felt the affect of it whisper through his naked body.

Hearing his approval, the blonde slave girl raised herself off Antony's hard buttocks and leant forward on her knees, to dig her fingers deeper into the same muscle.

Unable to resist any longer, Antony turned over on the bed and snapped his hands to the girl's hips, pulling her onto his lap, and himself. She was no Atia, Antony realised as she giggled nervously, but she had the right curves in the right place. Running his hands across her flat stomach and up to her soft breasts, his hungry smile grew, and he arched off the bed, pushing into her.

"Dominus!"

Groaning, Antony dropped back to the bed and with a roll of his eyes looked to see who had disturbed him. "This had better be.." his voice died as upside down he recognised the slave he had sent earlier to follow Pullo, appear in the doorway.

"Well about time," he muttered, his hands falling from the girl to cross behind his head. "Come," he urged, as the boy paused in the doorway. "Tell me what happened?"

With the briefest look to the girl still moving in Antony's lap, the slave knelt next to the bed and bowed his head.

"They…they fought," the boy started, and Antony smiled. It was as he had expected.

"And?" he prompted the boy, starting to get annoyed with his hesitance. "Did Vorenus kill him? Do I need to send guards to collect a body? Tell me details, boy."

"He coupled with him."

Antony froze. They were lovers? It was not that he was appalled by the idea, quite the opposite; after all, he'd taken more than his own fair share of men in the past, but this surprised him. All these years and he had missed it.

"Oh," a soft female moan drew his attention back to the room, and Antony looked to the girl still in his lap, obviously benefiting from the effects of his thoughts. He'd almost forgotten her. Never one to waste a willing body however, his hands moved to her hips, and he begun guiding her movements once more, allowing the details the slave continued with to fill his head and help speed him to his own climax.

His throat tightened to repress the growl that accompanied it so he could hear the last words of the slave's story, as both he and it reached the inevitable conclusion. Relaxing as silence filled the room, he closed his eyes and panted to get his breath back.

Waving his hand in a beckoning motion, he soon felt the warm body of the girl replaced by a soft towel wiping across his skin, and smelt the rich aroma of a cup of wine being offered at his side. Opening his eyes with a smile, he reached for it, and absently looked up to a burning torch.

He still had unfinished business with Vorenus, but this gave him a completely new battle strategy. Maybe he could still own the man, as he had always wanted. After all, a bought loyalty was one thing; a lover's was something else.

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Fini.

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A/N: Awww, So with that the day is done, thank you very much for reading.

Please take the time to review, (-Flutters eyelashes-) Pretty please. ;o)

I may explore Antony's plans in a later sequel fic, if anyone is interested. But at the moment I'm thinking about A fic on how Vorenus and Pullo's relationship got to this point, maybe in the form of missing scenes from the first series. To be called... BELOW THE EAGLE

Any hoo...

Till next time T.C.U

xx PP xx

P.s Don't forget to check out my profile for progress updates, and/or drop me a line. xx


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